


Jeeves and the Dainty Grootendorst

by Nary



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Humor, Inappropriate Use of a Croquet Ball, Theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 16:16:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14719440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: My Aunt Agatha is a member of the Ladies' Auxiliary Horticultural Society of Steeple Bumpleigh, and as such is compelled to participate in displays of competitive botany, preferably in full view of her friends, enemies, and extended family.  Thus I was obliged to attend a ghastly display of floral fecundity at the home of the Ilkthorpes of Ilkthorpe Grange, mingling with an endless array of little old green-thumbed ladies and pretending I knew the difference between a pansy and a peony.





	Jeeves and the Dainty Grootendorst

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for libraralien! I hope you enjoy it :)

Garden parties have always seemed a bit ridiculous to your humble narrator. Why stand around feigning admiration for petunias and daisies while swatting at horseflies, sweltering in the sun, dodging invitations to play croquet, and having nowhere to set your blasted drink down, when you have a perfectly good house mere yards away? I ask you, did humanity struggle its way up from the primitive state of nature only to forget why we invented walls and roofs? 

In any event, my Aunt Agatha is a member of the Ladies' Auxiliary Horticultural Society of Steeple Bumpleigh, and as such is compelled to participate in displays of competitive botany, preferably in full view of her friends, enemies, and extended family. Thus I was obliged to attend a ghastly display of floral fecundity at the home of the Ilkthorpes of Ilkthorpe Grange, mingling with an endless array of little old green-thumbed ladies and pretending I knew the difference between a pansy and a peony.

The star of the show, as it seemed, was something known as the "Dainty Grootendorst" rose. Why on earth the poor thing had been saddled with such an unfortunate moniker, your humble narrator knows not. It was pink and frilly and had apparently, according to Aunt Agatha's inside information, been imported at great expense from Belgium. Maud Ilkthorpe had contended with adversaries including aphids, caterpillars, and the dreaded brown speckle, and had emerged triumphant. This celebration was in honour of her victory, much in the way that one imagines Queen Boadicea might have paraded her defeated enemies before her chariot, only with more orange squash and tiny finger sandwiches.

"I say, Jeeves," I said, lingering aimlessly 'neath the shade of an old oak tree (and somewhat behind it, so as to avoid detection by aunt or croquet press gang), "what's the appeal of these outdoorsy affairs?"

"I daresay it is primarily to exhibit the fine quality of one's gardens to one's fellow horticultural enthusiasts." 

"Showing off, then," I said.

Jeeves inclined his head ever so slightly, as if to say 'you said it, not me.' 

At that point we were interrupted by the abrupt arrival of Aunt Agatha, who descended like a falcon having spotted a particularly plump and foolhardy mouse.

"Bertie," she said, getting straight to the point, "I want the Dainty Grootendorst."

I gave her a bemused and, I hoped, guileless expression. "Well, I daresay those chaps in Belgium would send you one if you wanted..."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said sharply. "Why should I pay for it and wait months for it to arrive, probably half-dead, when there's a perfectly good one growing just over there?"

"Well, what do you want me to do?" I asked, exasperated. "Pull the bally thing up by its roots in full view of the assembled guests?"

"Not at all," she replied. "All you need to do is get a cutting from it, and once you get it back to Bumpleigh Hall, my gardener can work his magic." She explained this very slowly, as though I was a schoolboy, and a rather simple one at that. Then she turned to glare at Jeeves, since she knew perfectly well who was actually going to do the dirty work. "I'm sure you can take care of it." 

Then, her larcenous ambitions conveyed, she ascended once again into the maelstrom of the garden party, like a particularly covetous angel. 

Well, I saw where this was going. This was not our first ride on the merry-go-round of domestic burglary. My task, clearly, would be to get people away from the Dainty Grootendorst for long enough for Jeeves to have his way with it. It would be best to accomplish our goal swiftly - it hadn't escaped me that once it was concluded, we would be unfortunately obliged to depart from the party in due haste, in order to whisk the fading flower off to its new home before it turned up its petals and died. 

"Very well, let's not dilly-dally," I replied, straightening my jacket. "Follow my lead." Causing a distraction was something of a Wooster specialty.

"Indeed, sir," Jeeves said with the faintest of smiles.

Scooping up a stray croquet ball in passing, I meandered in the direction of the punch bowl, where were gathered several of the luminaries of Steeple Bumpleigh, including the bishop and the Lord Mayor. "I say," I announced brightly, "anyone for a game of croquet?" Producing the ball from my pocket, I tossed it carelessly into the air, then, with the skill of a born athlete, deliberately fumbled the catch. The ball landed in the punch bowl, spraying the assembled guests with orange squash. I rather pride myself that none of it splashed on me - I dodged the blast radius, but caught the bishop square in the dog collar. 

Understandably, there was an outburst of invective directed at yours truly. I weathered the brunt of the storm valiantly, accepting the entirely justified critiques of my wisdom, intelligence, and dexterity. Lady Ilkthorpe called me a "feckless buffoon," which I thought was a touch harsh, but I bore the vehemence with what I like to think was a quiet dignity.

"Sir," Jeeves said, returning to my side once the commotion had settled down and the bishop whisked away to change into something less soggy, "I fear your boutonniere is wilting." 

I glanced down at the festive yellow sprig pinned to my lapel. "Looks alright to me."

"Not at all," he replied, tutting a bit as he removed the offending greenery. "Perhaps it was not cut fresh this morning, as I had been led to believe. I do apologize, sir." He cast it aside with a disdain he normally reserved for inappropriately whimsical socks, and replaced it with a frilly pink blossom that I could not help but recognize.

"You know, Jeeves, I won a prize at school," I told him, "for the best collection of wildflowers."

"Congratulations, sir," he replied politely. "I'm sure it was a great achievement."

I might have pointed out that I was eleven at the time, an age at which I'd also enjoyed raisins in curry, and so my judgment may have been suspect, but nevertheless I was capable of identifying a Dainty Grootendorst when one was pinned to my lapel. "Perhaps it's time for us to be going," I suggested. "If we leave now, we can make it back to Bumpleigh Hall and enjoy at least an hour of aunt-free leisure." Jeeves was only too glad to accompany me.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at [naryrising](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/naryrising) if you want to ask questions, make requests, or chat!


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